In Rememberers, time is not a straight line. It circles back onto itself. Eternal Return is real. But only a small handful of humans know this. And of that handful, an even smaller number of people, known as Rememberers are capable of remembering events from previous life cycles.

Kallie Hunt, a nineteen year old college student, after suffering from a sustained bout of déjà vu, discovers that she’s not only a Rememberer, but also the reincarnation of the goddess Kali and the first woman Eve, and perhaps more importantly, a demon-slayer.

Monday, August 24

Detective Jeremy Stint looked absently at the clock on the wall of his office. He was vaguely aware that it was 7:30 p.m. But his mind wasn't on the time. He was thinking about Phillip Beamer's murder. The murder, which had been committed in the first week of August, had been the first murder in Buckleton in nearly a decade. Murders in Buckleton were as rare as a truth-telling politician. The town was located in a sweet spot in South Carolina about halfway between Charlotte and Columbia. It was off the beaten path for drug runners, therefore drug traffickers and the peripheral trouble usually accompanying them tended to avoid it. It was a town made up mostly of the elderly and middle agers with small children. Young people, considering it the boondocks, high-tailed it out of town as soon as their parents and the law allowed, never looking back, which was just fine by Stint. He'd spent twenty years working homicides in Richmond, Virginia, where murders had seemed to occur as often as hands got dirty. The cities could have their mass population's largess of crime. He'd take the slow pace of Buckleton any day of the week.

The rarity of murders in Buckleton made the occurrence of one more horrifying for the town's citizenry, especially since with Buckleton being a small town, the victim was usually known by all. Strangers were as rare as murders in Buckleton, which made Phillip Beamer's death doubly concerning. No one in town had known the man. It was as if he'd dropped into the town out of the clear blue sky.

Stint reread his notes on the Beamer case. The victim's landlord, Mabel Jones, had nearly tripped over the victim's body on the morning of August 6. It was five o'clock in the morning and Mabel was leaving the house on her way to her second business. She was the proprietress of Belle's Cafe. Beamer had been left on her front porch, stabbed to death. Mabel had been up since four and hadn't heard Beamer leave the house. She thought he was in his room, which was on the house's second floor along with the rooms of her three other borders, all of whom had been sound asleep, hearing nothing.

"I tell you that man was as quiet as a church mouse," she'd said to Stint during her first interview at the station. "He'd barely make a sound. I hardly knew he was there. Unlike those other three who clunk around like show horses."

She'd rented a room to Beamer just two weeks earlier. He'd passed her background check and had excellent credit. He'd told her he was a freelance writer and was working on his first novel.

Mabel sipped from the cup Stint had brought her. Drops of coffee trembled down the cup's sides, lightly dotting the table around it. "He said he needed a quiet place to work. And you know there's no quieter place than Buckleton. Even the wind tiptoes around here. I had no reason to doubt him. Everything had checked out. He was so nice and he paid me six months in advance." When she finished, she looked weakly at Stint as if seeking his forgiveness.

Stint remained stone-faced, but he didn't begrudge the woman's making of a buck, nor did he fault her for harboring a bad apple. Background and credit checks were the staples of the industry and were often a landlord's best and only defense against weirdoes and deadbeats. But they weren't foolproof. Heck, even reference-checking didn't always expose poisonous fruit. There was simply no surefire way for landlords or employers to keep a potential Ted Bundy or Jonathan the Bum from entering their places of business or humble abodes. It was impossible to know everything about everyone. Sometimes personal baggage moved in silent lockstep with applicants. "Did he have any visitors?" Stint had asked her.

"Nary a one," Mabel said. "Like I said, I hardly knew he was there. He was as quiet as a church mouse."

Church mouse, Stint thought somberly. It had been a morbidly fitting analogy. Beamer's head had been nearly decapitated, as if his neck had been snapped off by a human-sized mouse trap. Crime of passion perhaps, he thought.

There was a light rap on the doorframe to his office.

Stint looked up and saw the ICE agent standing in his doorway, holding a briefcase. After the Beamer murder, the agent had shown up at his office unexpectedly. Stint had no idea what Beamer's death had to do with national security. But then again, he didn’t know what the death had to do with anything. "Agent Bennett, come on in."

Bennett stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. Stint offered him the client seat in front of his desk. After an exchange of pleasantries, Bennett sat down in the offered seat and laid his briefcase across his lap. He opened it, pulling out the plastic bags containing the business card and crime scene photos. He handed the items to Stint. "I appreciate you letting me borrow these."

Stint laid them on his desk. "No problem, just professional courtesy. I'll put them in our storage safe. Would you like to share with me why you needed them?"

"Let's just say I wanted to gauge the reaction of a little birdie."

"A suspect?"

Bennett bit his lip. "It's hard to say."

Stint waited a moment to see if the agent was going to add to the short statement. When it was clear that he wasn't, he said, "We don't get much violent crime here. You can imagine the stir this one has caused. If there's anything you could share to help me solve this thing..."

"That's not what I mean," Bennett interjected. "You're not going to solve it because the murder had nothing to do with Buckleton."

"Well, even a random act of violence happening in my jurisdiction is still my responsibility," Stint said.

"This wasn't a random act of violence."

Stint snatched up the plastic bags and stood up. He walked over to a floor safe tucked into the back corner of his office. He turned the combination lock and popped open the door. He paused and turned to face Bennett, holding the plastic bags up in the air. "Don't you think one professional courtesy deserves another?"

There was a brief pause, and then Bennett said, "Is this place secure?"

Stint just looked at him. Buckleton had a two man police force. Stint was the police chief and lead detective—well, only detective. The other member of the force, Raymond Johns, was home, probably just about ready to tuck his five-year-old son into bed.

"Okay," Bennett said, obviously catching the detective's drift. He nodded for Stint to return to his chair. The police chief placed the plastic bags inside the safe, closed the door, and readjusted the combination lock. After he returned to his chair, Bennett said, "Phillip Beamer was also known as Abu Dawood. He was an American citizen with ties to Al Qaeda."

"He was a terrorist?" Stint asked.

"He was a sleeper cell, planning a terrorist attack against America. He and a group of his cohorts were going to blow up the Strom Thurmond Federal Building in Columbia. We'd been tracking his email communications for a number of years. We'd known about Beamer or Dawood since 2001."

"Who took him out? Was it us?"

"By us, you mean the US government?"

Stint nodded.

"No," Bennett said. "There were no plans to take Dawood/Beamer out. We would have prevented the attack, but he was worth more to us alive than dead."

"Then who?"

Bennett's face drew in as he slowly shook his head. "We don't know."

"But you have a theory," Stint said.

Bennett looked at him curiously for a moment as if trying to gauge his aptitude for hearing the absurd. "Yeah, I do. It's a wild one, maybe even too wild to mention."

"I've been in law enforcement over twenty years. I've just about heard them all."

"A psychic," Bennett said in a matter of fact tone.

"A psychic?" Stint repeated.

"I think someone knew what Dawood/Beamer was planning to do, and then either they or someone they directed killed him before he could carry it out."

"Huh," Stint said. He was skeptical, but not dismissive. He'd known stranger things, like the man who'd thought his dog had commanded him to kill. "What about his cohorts?"

"What about them?" Bennett asked.

"Were any of them killed, too?"

"No," Bennett said. "We have a couple of the ones Dawood/Beamer communicated with via email in custody. But they, too, were sleeper cells and hadn't actually met him."

"Why would someone kill only this Dawood/Beamer character?"

"Because he was the leader. Killing him ended the planned terrorist threat. Dawood had been the lead domino. The other cells were to follow his instructions like trained seals. They knew none of the particulars of the assignment, only their specific roles in it."

"Okay," Stint said. "Let's say a psychic was involved. You have a vigilante on your hands that killed a known terrorist who was planning a horrific act of terrorism against the US. End justifies the means, right?"

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Bennett asked.

He didn't. Vigilantism was just another form of law breaking. To allow it would jeopardize the rule of law in society, ultimately leading to chaos. Not to mention the very real possibility that a vigilante could kill the wrong person. Stint didn't say any of this, but he didn't need to. He could tell Bennett recognized a slip of the tongue when he heard one. "So why do you think he was killed here in Buckleton?"

"Because he was here. His death wasn't connected to the town in any other way."

I guess that's good to know, Stint thought. The last thing Buckleton needed or wanted was someone targeting its citizens. "What's your next step?"

Bennett poked the inside of his jaw with his tongue and looked away. "There isn't a next step. Right now, we wait."

"What should I do about my investigation?"

"Unless you're a glutton for the punishment of an unsolved murder, I'd table it. Beamer's killer is most likely a world away from Buckleton."

C. Edward Baldwin’s debut novel, Fathers House was released in December, 2013 to wide critical acclaim. Kirkus Reviews called his 2014 Reader’s Favorite Award winning crime fiction book, “A resounding story of fatherhood packaged as a tense thriller.” Rememberers is Baldwin’s sophomore effort. Baldwin graduated from North Carolina A&T State University with a BA in Communications and he holds a MA in English from East Carolina. He and his wife Natasha, and their two boys, currently reside in Raleigh, NC.

When an unfortunate accident leaves Sedona with an injured arm and she’s fired from her part-time job shelving books at the university library she has to find a new gig fast.

The only job available mid-semester is working as a tutor for the athletic academic center. And the notorious bad boy of the university’s basketball team, JESSE WALKER, is the one and only guy on the new tutor’s roster.

But when SEDONA discovers a secret that could ruin the school’s winning basketball team doing the right thing could mean destroying the only guy she’s ever loved.

When I finally hit the last room in a long row of rooms I see a guy sitting there looking bored and staring at two fast food containers in front of him on the table. He glances up at me when I enter. The first thing I notice is his piercing green eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes that green on a human being that weren’t Photoshopped The second thing I notice is his messy, light brown hair. It doesn’t look like it’s been combed it in a week. It makes me wonder if it’s some new hair trend or if he just doesn’t bother to style it. Not that I have too much room to talk when it comes to hair. My curly red mop has been the bane of my existence since I was a kid. About the only thing I can ever do with it is pull it back into a pony tail. “Sedona?” I nod. “Have a seat.” He points to the chair right next to him. I remember Lewis’s warning and take a seat across the table instead. I want to be as close to the door as possible. The guy is big and muscular and much more intimidating than I imagined he’d be. My heart is thumping in my chest because his size and rough demeanor are making me nervous. When he pushes one of the fast food containers in my direction I cringe. I rarely eat fast food and when I do it’s from Just Veggies, an organic vegetarian place near campus. He doesn’t hesitate to open his container and take a bite of the messy burger that’s dripping some kind of white sauce all over his pile of fries. My stomach turns in response. “I bought you a burger.” He points to the second container he’s pushed in my direction. “Ambrose scheduled our sessions during lunch.” I make a point of pushing the container back over to him. “No thank you.” He frowns. “It’s from Frankie’s. Everybody loves Frankie’s burgers.” “Clearly not everyone.” His brows knit like he can’t believe I refused the food he bought. “You don’t want it?” He actually sounds hurt. “No, I don’t.” “Why?” I lift my book bag from the ground and point to one of the many political cause buttons I have covering the knitted tote my mom made for me. He barely acknowledges it. “What is that supposed to mean?” Now I’m the one who’s frowning. “Meat is murder. It’s a slogan. It means that I don’t eat animal flesh.” “You’re one of those vegans?” He doesn’t bother hiding the condescension in his voice. “Technically I’m a vegetarian. I eat free range, organic dairy products.” “Fine. I’ll eat the burger.” He glares at me as he opens the second container and takes a huge bite of the burger. I’m appalled until I notice that he slyly pushes both containers away and doesn’t take another bite of either burger. “I guess I should have brought an apple for the teacher.” “Only if it’s organic. And I’m not actually a teacher. I’m a tutor.” We both stare at each other for a long moment. Awkward does not even begin to describe our pairing. We’re like two people from different planets trying to communicate when we don’t speak each other’s languages. I remove a slip of paper from my bag. “Mr. Ambrose gave me your schedule of classes for the semester. You’re taking Film Appreciation, The History of Jazz, Advanced Yoga and Stress Management. What’s your major?” He shrugs. “Undeclared right now. But I’ll probably go with Sports Management.” “So these are Gen Ed classes?” He cocks his head and looks confused. “General Education classes,” I clarify. “Elective classes you need to take to fulfill requirements that aren’t directly related to your major.” “I guess so.” I’m a little disturbed by his lackadaisical attitude, but I let it go for the moment. We’re clearly not going to be able to develop much of a rapport so maybe it’s best just to get down to business. “We’re just handed a class schedule,” he clarifies. “Assigned classes. We don’t pick them ourselves.” “And they assigned you the History of Jazz? That’s the class that you’re having trouble with?” “The dude who was supposed to teach the class croaked and they got this new chick who apparently doesn’t like basketball.” There is so much wrong with his statement I don’t even know where to begin. “Might I suggest that you call your professors either professor or doctor and not chick.” I bristle at my own use of the derogatory word, but I continue, “And what does her not liking basketball have to do with your performance in the class.” At this he gives me a sly smile. “Let’s just say she’s not willing to play ball the way the other professors are.” I’m not sure exactly what he means by that, but there seems to be some kind of sports reference that is lost on me. “So you’re saying your other classes are going well and you’re just having trouble with the one class, History of Jazz?” He leans back in his chair and eyes me for a few seconds before he nods. I don’t like when he looks at me like that. It’s like he’s examining some weird, new specimen and trying to make sense of it. “All of my other teachers are huge basketball fans and they know I’m the in the starting lineup. I’m not sure what the jazz goddess’s problem is.” I take in a deep breath before I say something that’s sure to get me fired. “Why don’t we start by calling her Dr. Fisher? I think that might help. And why do you think she has a problem?” “She doesn’t like basketball. That’s not normal. Everybody loves basketball. This entire campus lives and breathes the sport.” “I don’t love basketball. I don’t even like it. Not even a little bit.” He actually looks stunned for a moment. Like I slapped him. Then he regains his cocky composure. “You’re one weird chick,” he mutters almost to himself, but still loud enough that I can hear him. “Excuse me?” I say even though I heard him. I just didn’t like having an insult hurled at me by someone I don’t even know. “You. Are. One. Weird. Chick.” His words are slower and louder as if I didn’t hear him the first time. “I actually heard what you said. I just didn’t like it.” A smug smirk appears on his face that I would love to slap right off if I could. I continue. “In case you haven’t noticed I’m not a bird I’m a human being. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to me as a chick.” He bites his bottom lip as if he’s actually giving it some thought. Then he says, “You’re one weird woman. Is that better?” “I’m not sure why you have to bring gender into the equation at all. Why not just call me a weird person?” That makes him laugh. “You don’t care that I think you’re weird. You just don’t want me to call you a chick?” “I’ve been weird my whole life. I’m used to it.” “At least you’re willing to own it.” “So did you bring your textbook with you or are you just going to spend the next ninety minutes taunting me?” “I kind of like taunting you.”

Top Ten Favorite Places

1) Sanibel Island, Florida

2) The Great Wall (China)

3) Machu Picchu (Peru)

4) Santa Barbara, California

5) Tombstone, Arizona

6) Austin, Texas

7) La Jolla, California

8) Chiang Mai, Thailand

9) Williamsburg, Virginia

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Karen Mueller Bryson writes romance novels under four pen names: Dakota Madison, Savannah Young, Sierra Avalon and Ren Monterrey. She lives in a small town outside of Phoenix, AZ with her husband and their bloodhounds.

When Vivian’s mother dies in a tragic accident, Vivian’s world is turned upside down. Her life, as she knows it, is over. A new life, full of her mother’s secrets, begins…

Sent away by her father to live with two eccentric aunts on the mysterious Tremaine Estate, Vivian comes to learn that a powerful curse lurks over her family – one that only she may have the power to break. With each day she spends in Misty Hills, Vivian uncovers more unsettling discoveries about the town, her reclusive family, and herself.

Can Vivian let go of every truth she’s ever believed and discover who she really is, before the dark secrets hidden within the supernatural town threaten to consume her and those she loves?

“Actually, I lived abroad. I just moved back to the US. My dad sent me to live with my aunts when my…” My breath hitched. I couldn’t say the words aloud. The bus driver gave me a sympathetic look in the mirror. I realized he must have noticed me carrying the urn. I sank lower in my seat, staring out the window at the dreary landscape. Grey clouds covered the sun and bleached the color out of our surroundings. The only familiar thing at the moment was the fog rolling over the hills. It reminded me of San Francisco, where I'd lived the last few months. I had been so excited to move there. How could I have known it would end in such tragedy?

“Well, Misty Hills may not be the most exciting place to live, but there are plenty of stories about it.”

“What kind of stories?” I had tried googling it, but the search engine hadn't yielded much information. It was as if that one town in Colorado were cut off from all technology.

“All sorts of things. There are rumors that the original founders of the town were runaway witches from Salem. You know, from the Salem witch hunts back in the day?”

“Really?” I felt pretty skeptical. “So, they’re superstitious?”

“A little. I’ve heard all kinds of wild tales about the goings-on in Misty Hills. Too many crazy stories, but I guess the sources aren’t the most reputable. Try to take in as much as you can right now because we’re arriving around the time the sun sets.”

I hadn't believed my father was serious about sending me away until he instructed me to get on the bus. I begged to stay with him, but he was adamant. I got angry and threatened to run away as soon as I arrived at my aunts' house. He asked me to come to terms with what had happened. What about me? I thought. Don’t I get to have some time to get used to having lost my mother? Do I have to lose my father too?

When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?

It wasn’t until I had gotten my first review from my first reader that I realized that I had done it, I was a writer. Every time I get a new review, the idea is reinforced. And that’s why I love getting reviews!

How long did it take to get your first book published?

It took about a year, roughly three months to write it and the rest of the time working on edits and other things. I have to admit, I took my time and still feel it could have used more time but I reached a point where I was like, “If I don’t publish this now, I never will.” I could have easily taken another year or two over it.

What is the name of your latest book, and if you had to summarize it in less than 20 words what would you say?

The Enchanted Rose. It’s a paranormal mystery set in contemporary times with a dash of magic.

Who is your publisher? Or do you self-publish?

I self-publish.

What can we expect from you in the future?ie More books of the same genre? Books of a different genre?

I’m working on the sequel to The Enchanted Rose and I have another book that’s a fantasy set in an alternate world. I’m excited for those two to come out in the next few months.

What genre would you place your books into?

Fantasy/Paranormal

What made you decide to write that genre of book?

It’s what I love to read. I enjoy escaping into different worlds full of magic and mystery.

Do you have a favorite character from your books? And why are they your favorite?

I don’t like saying I have a favorite character but I must admit, I’m partial to Jaxon. He’s a big tough guy with a soft side. It doesn’t hurt that he’s hot ;)

How long have you been writing?, and who or what inspired you to write?

I’ve been writing all my life, whether it’s in journals or on a blog but this is the first year that I attempt being a “real” writer.

Do you read all the reviews of your book/books?

Yes, I do! I don’t respond to all of them but I appreciate each and every one. The fact that someone took the time to read my book blows me away. It’s such a thrilling feeling.

Do you choose a title first, or write the book then choose the title?

I wrote the book first and then chose the title.

How do you come up with characters names and place names in your books?

I actually had different names for the guys in my book. My editor convinced me to change them. In the beginning it was difficult to think of them as anything but the original names but I’ve gotten used to it now and feel they’ve really come into their own.

Do you decide on character traits (ie shy, quiet, tomboy girl) before writing the whole book or as you go along?

I decide as I go along. I allow the voice of the character to come out and feel it out to see what feels right.

Are there any hidden messages or morals contained in your books? (Morals as in like Aesops Fables type of "The moral of this story is..")

I believe in The Enchanted Rose it is to have hope. Nothing is impossible. Keep trying and be hopeful.

Which format of book do you prefer, eBook, hardback, or paperback?

Paperback & ebooks are my favorite

Your favorite singer/group is?

I actually don’t have a favorite singer/group. I love music but love so many different genres, my taste is constantly changing.

BOOK SYNOPSIS

Her prison became his hell.

The only thing standing between Beverly Price and a prison cell is her well connected attorney, Jackson McNabb. Jackson pulls some legal strings, getting Beverly sent to his family’s plantation to work out her sentence at an isolated setting- the perfect place for sexual escapades. When Jack and Beverly act on the pent-up lust burning between them, their passion rouses an angry spirit, setting off a series of frightening paranormal events and sending Beverly fleeing the arms of her lover, leaving Jack to fight for both of their lives.

Where will you run when your sins come back to haunt you?

EXCERPT

Beverly’s libido was assailed at being around a man she wasn’t totally immune to and she shivered when Jack got behind her, bracketing her sides with his arms. She stood still as her scantily clothed skin absorbed his body heat, trapping it between them. She took the cutting knife, and he covered her hand with his, directing the chopping mechanisms. The close proximity was pressing on her, making her question everything she thought she knew about herself. He was teaching, but she wasn’t listening, only slipping into feelings she’d never meant to feel with him.

They were nearly meshed together when Jack’s hands wrapped her waist and he guided her toward the sink. He washed and she dried while a play-by-play reverie of Jack stripping her down and bending her over the counter projected in her head like a movie screen. Beverly’s breath caught in her throat when the bulge in his pants skipped across the back of her thigh.

AUTHOR BIO

Jenna Fox is a civilized hillbilly, mother, wife and multi-published author of erotic romance residing in Eastern Tennessee. Besides juggling a busy family life, Fox reviews and critiques for other authors and crafts her own dark erotic tales. Stories always feature a mysterious alpha male with unexpected twists to shock the reader. She believes in HFN and HEA endings, although not always in a romantic or conventional way.

Her work is born from real life experiences, an overactive imagination and a consuming caffeine addiction. Fox is a listener of bad-ass music and a watcher of classic slasher films. In short, she’s a multi-tasker – a writer, a storyteller, able to make a boo-boo all better with just one kiss and a proud, world class expert at screwing up recipes and scaring away closet monsters. She believes in ghosts and God and is absolutely convinced chocolate soothes the savage beast.

In the aftermath of one tragic and uncertain night, Edy and Hassan shut out the chaos with a kiss. But when Hassan's traditionalist mother sees that kiss … well, a nightmare of a different sort begins. After all, he still has an arranged marriage on the horizon. Love attacks the glue of their two bonded families; while the slow tug of success pulls Edy and Hassan in opposite directions. After denying their feelings for so long, they now have each other, but are forced to ask themselves if being together is worth it.

Hassan examined the gash on his right hand with mild interest, curious as to what point he’d earned it. His hand shook; his whole arm shook, and the tightness in his chest worked like a vice. He believed he could whittle away the panic. He believed he could wish away the night. He closed his eyes, opened them, and found all exactly as it had been. He swatted at the EMT impatiently as his legs dangled from the rear of the ambulance. “That’s enough,” Hassan said. “I’m good.” The man frowned down at his work. He’d cleaned the wound, applied an ointment, and looked at a roll of gauze longingly. “Really, you should let me—” “I said ‘no.’” Hassan snatched his arm free and stood. They’d rolled Wyatt away on a gurney. When that happened, the wheel of the stretcher had bumped on the door frame’s ledge, causing his arm to swing out from the bed. Long, white, limp—that was Hassan’s last image of him. He thought of it now as he stared at the Green’s front entrance. A uniformed officer banged at the door. Another stood at his side. The wind howled in response. He couldn’t watch that. He couldn’t stand this. Swarming, aimless flashing lights, the methodical sectioning and combing of here and there, and Wyatt’s swinging arm, slipped out to greet him. He’s dead. No one loses that much blood and lives. Hassan’s thoughts turned to Edy, Edy whose friend had been shot. Quick steps brought him to her, in the cold, in the dark, in the madness they’d rushed home. Get to her was his only command. She stood underneath a winter-stripped oak wrapped in a fleece Patriots blanket. Seeing her reminded him of his own bare arms and of how cold he should have been. He slid in with her, wrapped her in the circle of his arms so tight, and exhaled a puff of exhaustion. Better, he thought. Best. Because he couldn’t think just now. He could only feel and breathe in drafts, so wrecked was he from the senselessness of it all. Some part of him, some inner part, fractured and burned, fluttering off in winter winds ashen piece by ashen piece. “Hassan,” Edy said. “I—I’m freaking out. I’m going to lose it completely.” Her eyes swept the lawn without seeing, watering to overflow, sliding into panic. “Edy,” he said, but she didn’t hear. “Edy,” he repeated, but she still didn’t hear. She gripped the fabric of his shirt at the waist, fisting it with a hand and twisting. He pulled her in so they were forehead to forehead and trembling. She would keep it together or he would unravel right with her.

Love Edy - Love Edy # 1

Pages: 313 pages - ISBN: 978-0692027141 - ASIN: B00L89KZ16

When Edy Phelps falls hard for her best friend, she knows nothing can come from it. Forget actual chemistry, or the fact that she cherishes his mother more than her own; centuries of tradition say that Hassan will grow up, marry the girl his parents pick, and forget his best friend: the dancer with the bursting smile. Except he can't. In a world erupting with possibilities for the boy with a body of steel and dreams of the NFL, everything seems promised while nothing at all is; when he's denied the girl he wants most. Two hearts. Two families devoted through generations of friendship. Could Edy and Hassan really risk all that? And yet ... how could they not?

Shewanda Pugh is a tomboy who credits Stephen King with being the reason she writes romance. In 2012 she debuted with the first novel in a three part contemporary adult romance series, Crimson Footprints. Since then, she's been shortlisted for the AAMBC Reader's Choice Award, the National Black Book Festival's Best New Author Award, and the Rone Award for Contemporary Fiction in 2012 and 2013. She has an MA in Writing from Nova Southeastern University and a BA in Political Science from Alabama A&M University. Though a native of Boston, MA, she now lives in Miami, FL, where she can soak up sun rays without fear of shivering.